Final Fantasy: Call of the Summoner
by Gune
Summary: Magic has all but been forgotten by the inhabitants of a world littered with desolate wastelands, dangerous caverns, and ancient monster infested forests. Inside one of the smallest villages constructed, a small gathering of unlikely heroes will set off a chain of events that will change the world forever. But will it be for better or for worse? An OC driven Final Fantasy story
1. The Wanderer

**Disclaimer: Final Fantasy was created by Hironobu Sakaguchi and is owned and published by Square Enix.  
**

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**FINAL FANTASY  
**

**Call of the Summoner**

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**Written by Gune  
**

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**Chapter one  
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**THE WANDERER  
**

Twelve days ago the rain had started falling and for twelve days the rain had not stopped. Whispers of a black omen swept through the last small town in which the lone wanderer, Davin Greyburn slept. Tales of dark prophecies born of days long past when magic and monsters ravaged a more fruitful and prosperous land. Many stories had passed through Davin's ears for the twenty years of life he had lived. The very road he now traveled, soaked and muddy from the endless droplets of water the heavens saw fit to douse his path with was once a bright green spectacle to behold during the day and a soothing melody of wind-chimed grass during the night.

When Davin's black boot sank into the dark brown muddy reality of the real world, his mind perished the pointless fantasy of any past life his world may have had. The present had traded the greenery for miles of beige dusty plains, tall lifeless mountains, and dark gray forests. Although almost all of the magic had gone, the fierce creatures of the night were allowed to stay. However, this brought little worry to Davin's mind. The road to, Paustil; a small assortment of wood shacks and log cabins, was usually quiet and less traveled by any fearsome beasts. The scavengers mostly kept to themselves, rarely risking their dwindling numbers against large living meals.

The cotton straps on Davin's boots tugged at his ankle as another puddle of mud threatened to steal the black footwear. Davin's black pants ruffled their way out of the boots from the force of the last tug from the mud. This current annoyance elicited a small sigh from Davin's chest; the wisp of air briefly materializing in front of the lone wanderer before joining the brisk breeze that carried the rain in a diagonal path towards the muddy road. Davin could no longer feel the water hitting any part of his body below his face besides his bare fingers sticking out through the holes cut into the black gloves he wore. His black vest and the black shirt beneath it were completely soaked. Beneath the bright star and moonlit sky his caramel complexion glistened under the rain.

Light from Paustil flickered into Davin's range of vision, which made the loud howling that managed to sail into his ears a bit confusing. Lupine rarely traveled this close to populated areas. The hairless beasts are usually hesitant to even risk dwindling their numbers against just one traveling human. Something seemed odd about the animal cry, although Davin couldn't place a mental finger on it. The howl almost sounded as if it were cut short, however, not from pain or death. No, the abrupt silence from the beast seemed almost muffled.

Davin decided to ignore it. Beasts or no beasts he was only about half a mile away from a warm room and a soft bed. More importantly, he was only about half a mile away from finally being able to remove the large black supply pack from his back and the long black overcoat he wore that was protecting his bare arms from the rain until it too became so soaked that it was heavier than its actual weight. The cursed thing must have been slowing him down by at least two steps as it dragged through the mud as if a ball and chain were attached to its bottom. Most annoying of all his garments was the black hat fashioned with a wide circular bill that kept the rain out of his face. That is until the wind picked up, causing the water to fall at a diagonal angle. The stupid thing made him look like some cheap magician eager to pull a card out of his ass for a quick buck.

The only thing Davin was glad to carry that weighed down on his body was the three and a half foot broadsword tucked neatly into the black sheath strapped to his back. The black cylinder hilt of the sword clanged against a pot stored away inside Davin's pack. After a long tiresome exhale after another half hour of trudging through the mud, Davin's head lifted and his eyes took in the small town of Paustil, which was only a handful of minutes away. No walls surrounded the town. The outskirts, a name that those who were fortunate enough to live in cities and towns that _were_ surrounded by walls gave to the wastelands that made up most of the world, were populated mostly by people of low ambition and even lower self esteem. Materials for homes, farming equipment, defenses, and weapons were scarce. The people of Paustil felt that shelter was more important than walls for more reasons than the obvious. The scavenging beasts wouldn't bother a group of humans with basic weapons and a flimsy wall made from rotting timber would do little to keep out raiders and absolutely nothing to stop the larger monsters that roamed the land. Paustilians felt that if the world wanted them dead, why even bother?

This indifferent attitude towards life that swelled within most of the residents of Paustil was what kept most of their attention fixated on their own affairs as Davin Greyburn walked into their town. Just another traveling nobody there to rest his weary body from the harsh world that surrounded the town. Few living in Paustil took notice to the stranger's arrival and fewer still would care if he ever left. As long as he built his own damn house and stayed out of their business.

Even the small group of wood cabins and shacks that was Paustil harbored a place where travelers could rest. Unfortunately, for the few strangers that wandered into town, the only place offering them a roof over their heads also happened to be the place where anyone, resident or stranger could go to drown their troubles in alcohol. The few who stayed at the establishment found it more than difficult to actually sleep with loud intoxicated men and women shouting and laughing all throughout the night. The merchants of the land, some adventurous, others desperate, ventured out into the outskirts hoping to turn a profit. The more successful merchants of the inner cities dominated the markets so the outskirts held the last hopes for many struggling tradesmen. In their travels, they found that liquor was the most lucrative venture outside of their more civilized hometowns. Almost more lucrative than decent steel weapons and armor.

The wooden door to the Dusty Place Inn creaked open and Davin's dark drenched form appeared in the entryway. His presence pulled a few brief stares from the small crowd of drifters and drunkards; his dripping form holding their attention from the mead filled cups on their tables for only a handful of moments. Two or three of the intoxicated customers sized the new guest up from his mud covered black boots to his drooping black hat. The lone wanderer stepped into the Inn, happy to finally have escaped the cold rain and wind of mother nature. As the door creaked shut behind him, Davin's nose was hit with the familiar musty aroma that only the Dusty Place could generate. The stench seemed to had thickened since he last stayed. A brief glance at the floor, which was covered with thin unconnected sheets of wood, brought several small insects into Davin's line of sight. The tiny bugs crawled through the cracks of the loose pieces of plywood and scattered with each step a patron took. As Davin made his way over to the bar and the innkeeper that doubled as a bartender, the plywood creaked and cracked beneath his weight. The ends of the wooden planks sank and lifted with each step causing the still dirt beneath them to kick up into the air in a dusty mist; a visual display for anyone that ever wondered how the establishment received its name. Davin slid his arms out of the straps on his pack and let it hit the floor with a loud water soaked thud. His hat and overcoat sprinkled more water onto the floor after hitting the top of the pack with a squishy ruffled splat. His black hair was shaved low so fortunately no water had nestled atop his head, waiting for the removal of his hat in order to drip down into his eyes.

The barkeep, an old gray haired man of small stature covered in a long-sleeved golden shirt and gray pants gave the new arrival an unfriendly glare. "How many?" He snapped.

"Just one this time, Bastil." Davin replied, showing more indifference to the barkeep's bad attitude than the townspeople showed upon his own arrival.

Bastil Hermil didn't dislike Davin for any personal reasons. It was just the fact that the wanderer represented something Bastil held a great deal of resentment for; wasted talent. He supposed that what he really felt towards the wanderer was jealousy but the reasoning behind his contempt for the man was of little importance. How anyone gifted with the ability, be it natural or otherwise, to travel freely across the outskirts for years without even a large scar or at least a limp to show for it and chose only to wander from town to town with no particular goals or accomplishments save getting drunk and serviced by whores was in Bastil's opinion an utter waste of talent on an ungrateful human being. The fact that Davin had just entered his twenties only served to strengthen Bastil's dislike for the man. If more men with the wanderer's ability that weren't useless hunks of flesh with no ambition existed in the outskirts maybe they could unite enough people to work towards making the outskirts a safer place to live. Wishful thinking, Bastil thought.

"I already know you want alcohol, you punk kid." Bastil spat. "I meant how many nights are you staying?"

"Four, you mean old bastard." Davin said with a sly smirk. "And if you already knew I wanted a drink then why don't I see a mug in front of me?"

"Because I don't see any gil on the counter." Bastil sneered.

After a few seconds of squishy ruffling through his pocket, Davin opened his hand above the counter and fifteen silver-colored pieces of metal clinked onto the wooden surface. Bastil glared briefly at the metallic coins before swiping the gil from sight with a grunt. The old man turned and grabbed an iron mug from one of the shelves behind the counter and filled it with the foamy dehydrating substance known as mead that aged slowly inside four large barrel-kegs set against the wall. The foam oozed down the side of the mug after the barkeep slammed the metal container onto the wooden counter. With any and all interactions with the young traveler no longer necessary unless he overstayed the welcome his money allowed, Bastil let out one last grunt before removing his distasteful glare from the wanderer.

Davin took a seat on one of the bar-stools and leaned forward on the counter, taking small sips of his alcoholic beverage. The atmosphere of the inn was livelier than he remembered. Setting aside the fact that more than twenty people occupied the half of the Dusty Place that served as the bar, there were at least four, maybe five different conversations going on at once, which brought a calm ambiance of civilization to the stinky enclosed space. Four years ago, Davin would find himself in or near Paustil at least twice a year. However, it had been over three years since he set food in the town. Two years had passed since he traveled this far south across Wynvale, which was, the last time Davin bothered to pay attention, the second most powerful country on a continent harboring five powerful countries. The small change to the inn made Davin realize that time surely did fly when you never paid the world much attention.

"That's a nice lookin' sword you got there." A brutish male voice echoed over the ambiance of the bar.

Apparently, not paying attention can change several things other than time, Davin thought as he let out a sigh of annoyance. His first instinct was to ignore whomever it was standing behind him. Hopefully the asshole would realize something he should already know; friendliness and polite conversation were not common virtues in the outskirts. However, three more pestering vocal attempts from the stranger at grabbing Davin's attention were enough to make the young man realize that talking to the asshole was the only way of ridding himself of the asshole.

"I'm amazed you can tell how the sword looks while it's buried in its sheath." Davin said, letting the dry sarcasm in his voice be a strong indicator of how much he didn't want to converse with anyone.

"Well maybe you should hand it over so I can get a better look at it." The thug demanded with a hint of anger in his voice.

Just who did this little shit think he was? For over two years, Bruxis had made sure everyone in Paustil knew that getting on his bad side wouldn't be good for their health. Now some wandering brat barely out of his teens thought he could waltz in on Bruxis's turf and disrespect him with his smart ass mouth?

"Let me ask you a question." Davin said coolly while taking another sip of mead from his mug. "How long do you think I have been traveling?"

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" Bruxis growled.

"Well it's a dangerous place out there." Davin explained, after gulping down a mouthful of mead. "You have Lupine running around everywhere, goblins, ferocious trolls as big as trees..."

Bruxis took a step closer to the stranger as his anger intensified. "You think I'm afraid of some wild animals and freaks o' nature? Even if I was, you ain't dem." He pulled a small dagger from the brown belt holding up the green dirt stained pants he wore beneath an equally dirty green shirt. "Now hand over the sword you stupid fuck! Before I slit your throat!"

"No." Davin's voice grew darker as he set the mug down onto the counter with enough force that the clank of metal on wood echoed over the room that was silenced by the thug's screams. "No I'm not one of those wild animals or freaks of nature. But try to use that small organ between your ears to process my words carefully. It just might save your life."

Davin continued, interrupting the thug's next threat. He was intent on not being forced to fight after his long exhausting journey from Traville, a town nearly twice the size of the unimpressive assortment of shacks that was Paustil, which wasn't saying much. This guy was nothing more than the town bully. A person who would fit in perfectly with the rich, pompous assholes of the inner cities if he hadn't drew a bad hand and been born in the outskirts. The people out here, including Davin, were ranked as beneath the lower class of the inner cities, which was pretty bad considering the inner city lower class were thought of as subhuman by some of the more "elite" citizens. Lowborn was an understatement for outskirt dwellers.

"You see I was walking for six days before I got here, _after_ traveling through Blakule forest for three days." Davin's finger-glove covered hand tightened around the beer-mug handle as he spoke. "So while I'm not one of the monsters that dwell within the forest that virtually _no one_ dares travel through. Nor am I any of the beasts that roam the outskirts, which only crazy merchants or heavily armored criminals and mercenaries dare travel. I_ am_ something that should get that small organ between your ears churning with an interesting realization." Davin let his words hang in the air for dramatic effect. "I'm still alive."

Bruxis had decided that if the kid in front of him uttered one more word instead of handing over the sword he would bury his dagger in the back of the little punk's head and _then_ slit his throat. "You..." However, even though he wasn't the smartest man in the word, even Bruxis's brain, such as it was, could contemplate where the wanderer was going with his story.

"Not only am I still alive." Davin continued. "But I have no armor to speak of and I've been carrying around this pack with over forty pounds of supplies in it for the entire time I've been walking through Blakule forest and the outskirts." He finished the last of the mead in the mug then slammed it down on to the counter. "Fill this mug back up, old man, and I don't want to hear another fucking word about how much gil you see."

Bastil had been considering the entire situation in his mind from the moment he noticed Bruxis eying the punk kid's sword when he arrived. While he knew the boy most likely had some skill with the weapon he didn't know _how much_ skill. Bruxis on the other hand was in no way a pushover or a coward with more bark than his bite. The barkeep knew Davin was attempting to resolve the situation without violence and knew that he had just been recruited into the punk's plan. Bastil knew that if he were to do what almost every fiber of his being was telling him to do, which was to tell the little turd just where he could stick that mug until some gil found its way onto the counter, Bruxis would be less inclined to continue listening to all of the talk and more inclined to use the dagger in his hand. Either way, whomever won the fight, Bastil would end up being the one that had to repair any damages. The correct decision seemed obvious enough. But _oh_ how he wanted to tell that little shit off.

"Little bastard..." Bastil muttered under his breath while grabbing the mug and turning to the barrel-kegs.

"Now there's one more detail you should take into account." Davin said, a bit surprised that Bastil decided to comply with his demand.

Well, the hard part was over, Davin thought.

"This detail just happens to be the most important detail of my entire journey." Davin slowly turned in his seat and glared into the eyes of the thug, Bruxis, with a murderous intent flashing behind his own eyes. "It's been raining for _twelve_ days. When it rains, I have to put on that stupid fucking hat you see sitting on top of my pack. I _hate_ wearing that hat and I had to wear it for _twelve_, _fucking, days_."

Bruxis tried to speak. The words were there in his mind, they just couldn't make it out of his mouth. He wanted to interrupt the kid; make the punk realize that in Paustil, Bruxis was the one who did the intimidating. But the words never came. He wanted to step forward and ram the dagger down the brat's throat. But his legs never moved. Bruxis couldn't understand it but for the first time in his life his brain was overriding his temper.

"The only thing I wanted to do." Davin's voice began to raise with each pause he took in his sentences as Bastil slammed a full mug of mead down onto the counter behind him and walked off a few feet away from the two miscreants. "Was sit down at the bar, have a mug of mead, dry off by the fire..." The young wanderer's voice boomed outside of the Dusty Place as he began screaming at the top of his lungs. "_And get some fucking sleep on a bed with a mattress instead of the fucking muddy, insect infested ground you fat, fuck!" _Davin rose to his feet stepping up to Bruxis, ignoring the dagger and getting in the thug's face with an infuriated glare that could slit a throat, if glares could be used for such things. "Now..." Davin lowered his voice to a more menacing tone. "If you're not out of my face within the next two seconds...I'll give you my sword...I'll shove it down your throat and out the end of your dick." Davin moved closer, bringing his face to within an inch of Bruxis's face. "And before you start wondering if that's physically possible, believe me...I'll _make_ it possible."

For some odd reason that Bruxis had yet to grasp, he could feel the dagger shaking in his hand. He couldn't understand why or how the dagger could be shaking. It wasn't until he felt his right leg take an instinctive, involuntary step back that he realized it wasn't the dagger that was shaking at all.

Bruxis was trembling.

The thug quickly stepped back. Too preoccupied with moving, Bruxis's trembling hand lost its grip on the dagger and it clanged on the wooden floorboards. The plank Bruxis stepped across sank beneath his weight into the dirt below and the back of his heel hit the adjacent plank, causing him to fall backwards. His rear end hit the floor with a loud thud. The thug's eyes scanned the bar as many suppressed snickers bounced off of his ear drums. His left hand rose and violently brushed the dust from below the planks out of his tall spiky red hair while his right hand shot forward, retrieving the dagger from the floor. As he stood, Bruxis returned the dagger to his belt and quickly stormed out of the Dusty Place Inn with his face red from fury and embarrassment.

As the thug exited the Inn, a new patron entered. She was the normal height for women born to the continent, no taller than five and a half feet. Rainwater dripped from the end strands of her long brunette hair that extended down just above the small of her back. A brown cloak covered most of her clothes except for the bottom half of the brown leather pants covering her legs. Her green eyes immediately locked onto the caramel eyes of the young man seated at the bar. Her face remained expressionless as the wanderer turned to the fresh mug of mead behind him after holding her stare for only a few seconds. The door creaked loudly behind the woman as it closed and she stepped over to the bar, taking a seat at the counter to the left of the wanderer, with one stool separating the two.

"What'll it be, Tanya?" Bastil asked.

"The only thing you have in here besides water, Bastil." The cloaked woman, Tanya Furdell replied.

Davin noticed that while Bastil's voice still carried its usual unpleasantness, and the frown that Davin imagined never left the barkeep's face, even when he slept, was still there, there was something less hostile in the old man's demeanor and movements towards the new arrival. The wanderer decided to add dirty to his mean old bastard description of the barkeep. He had seen the woman, what was it the mean dirty old bastard had called her, Tanya? He had seen her before, he was sure of it as he never forgot a face. It had been four years since he set foot in Paustil and he could still remember every face he had seen there. Well, when he saw those faces anyway. However, hers seemed a bit different than he remembered. In the short glance he'd given her, he noticed a small vertical scar just below her left eye. She still had the same tan complexion common among her race and the blemish did little to detract from her attractiveness but his brain couldn't help analyzing small changes in familiar environments. He had to pass the time somehow.

"You're pretty loud." Tanya said, keeping her gaze fixated on one of Bastil's bar-shelves.

"What?" Davin asked, confused as to why so many people felt so compelled to bother him that night.

"I could hear you all the way outside, over the rain." Tanya explained. "And I'm not even talking about the part where you started screaming. I'm sure the whole damn town could hear you then."

Davin, staying true to his nature, employed the same tactic he used against Bruxis.

"It's just that I'm planning on traveling west towards Rageun City and the only way to get there from here without an airship is to travel through Blakule forest." Tanya gulped down a mouthful of mead before continuing. "Having not been there in quite some time I was wondering if you could fill me in on any significant changes to the area." She decided to continue trying to break through Davin's silent treatment. "You know, things like new monsters, changes in the areas they frequent, any blocked paths?"

"Do you have a point you want to make or did you just come in here with the specific intention of annoying the shit out of me?" Davin grumbled.

"Well, actually..." Tanya took another swig of mead. "The most widely accepted travel time, you know, amongst people who have actually traveled through Blakule forest, is five days." Tanya stared intently at Davin after her last sentence. "And the hike from Blakule to here takes at least eight days. Of course that's when it's _not_ raining and the dirt roads haven't been turned into pools of mud." Her lips formed a sly smirk. "So you can imagine how amazed I am that you arrived here so quickly when it's been raining for _twelve, fucking, days_, as you so eloquently put it."

"You know." Davin gently set his mug down. "This bar isn't covered in human blood because I told my little tale so _eloquently_." His eyes rose and his glare met Tanya's stern gaze. "You lookin' to cheapen my accomplishment?"

Tanya held Davin's glaring gaze for a handful of seconds before shrugging and turning back to her drink. "No. I was just curious how you managed to get rid of the biggest pain in the ass this town has to offer _without_ covering this place in blood. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to flatter you. I'm just...studying."

"Right." Davin finished off the last of his mead then pulled five more gil from his pocket and left them on the bar counter. "I swear to Bahamut this night better not get any more annoying."

Davin grabbed his pack and carried it to his room with his hat and coat still sitting on top of it. He slammed the door behind him and dropped the pack next to the bed. The vibrations from his footsteps and dropped supplies caused several of the small insects that infested the inn to scurry out onto the floor and wooden legs of the bed. The wanderer frowned at the bugs and then shook his head.

"Nope." He said while reaching into a small pocket stitched into the side of his pack. "No bugs crawling over me while I sleep tonight. Not this time."

From the black pocket, Davin pulled out a small white sack with a round palm sized object inside of it. A quick pull at the slipknot on the top of the sack opened the fabric revealing a green sphere shaped plant with six peel away leaves with small tips that joined at the top. Davin pulled a small dish from his pack next and placed it on the dresser next to his bed. He set the plant down on top of the dish and then grabbed a lit candle from atop the dresser. Davin held the orange flame over the tip of the plant until smoke began to generate from the green sphere. Mere seconds after Davin set the candle down, the plant was almost completely consumed by the flames. A thick gray smoke erupted from the plant and the flames disappeared beneath the cloud. After twenty seconds the plant had been reduced to ash and Davin's room was filled with the gray odorless smoke. Ten more seconds passed before several multicolored bugs began falling from the wooden ceiling of the room. Within one minute since Davin lit the now destroyed plant ablaze, all of the insects in his room were dead.

"I am not going to be denied. I'm sleeping comfortably and dry for at least one damn night." Davin declared to the world.

The wanderer unstrapped his sheath and leaned his sword against the dresser. Next, he quickly removed all of his clothes and hung them up in front of the fireplace with a rope from his pack. Finally, he removed a fresh pair of underwear and a t-shirt wrapped in graywood tree leaves he acquired from Blakule forest six years ago. The leaves never withered, even when separated from their wooden homes and were perfect for wrapping items meant to stay dry. Davin often thought about returning to the forest and acquiring more leaves for the purpose of fashioning some sort of coat that would keep him dry during the rainy days of his travels. However, several factors kept him from pursuing that course of action. One of the main factors being his lack of sewing skills. Any coat he made would turn out to be a garbled pile of fat leaves that made him look more like one of the creatures roaming the outskirts than a human being in a stupid outfit. The other factor being there was almost nothing that could possibly make him consider going back to the dreaded forest that nearly took his life when he was barely a teenager. The rain wasn't so bad anyway, Davin figured.

As he lay back on the comfortable mattress, Davin let out a triumphant sigh of satisfaction. Before he shut his eyes he pulled the covers over his body. Even though the night held several unnecessary annoyances that nearly pushed him over the edge towards murder, as Davin felt his muscles finally receiving their deserved chance to relax, he knew it was all worth it. At least for tonight, nothing else could possibly bother him.

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**Wynval****e: Half a mile east outside of Paustil**

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"Did he see us? Did he see the lights?" A gruff male voice called out over the falling rain and howling wind.

"He didn't see us. If he did he would have warned them by now." A hardened female voice replied.

"He did hear us though. I told you to keep those fucking things quiet." The male voice barked.

"Quiet isn't something Lupine do well." The female voice shot back.

"Keep the muzzles on em."

"With all this rain they just slide off."

"Will you two shut up? We're about to start the raid." A second male voice interjected. "And, Vansh."

"Yeah, boss?" The female voice replied.

"You can take the muzzles off now."

Six metal teeth amongst two rows of yellowish pearly teeth sparkled beneath the moonlight as Vansh began removing the muzzles from her attack Lupine with a maniacal grin. "It's about time."


	2. The Thief

**FINAL FANTASY**

**Call of the Summoner  
**

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**Chapter Two  
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**THE THIEF  
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No one knew. None of them could possibly know and that is exactly the way Po'boak liked it. Things were always much simpler when the people around him didn't know that at any moment, their possessions could become _his_ possessions. In reality, they were only holding on to their coins and trinkets for Po'boak. Until Po'boak decided to retrieve the coins and trinkets. The rich man that had come to town kept his paper money nice and dry for Po'boak; tucked away in a fancy red purse laced with gold cotton. However, the color of the purse didn't appeal to Po'boak. Red reminded him of blood and Po'boak felt that the less blood he saw, the more successful he would be. Po'boak knew the man who once had the paper money was rich simply because he had paper money. Po'boak also knew that the rich man didn't want anyone to know he was rich. That is why the rich man wore such dirty, worn out clothes. That is why the rich man kept to himself. But now Po'boak was rich. The paper gil was worth much, much more than the metal gil and only rich people carried paper gil. Po'boak knew this because he had never stolen paper gil from anyone in Paustil before. Everyone in Paustil only had metal gil. Po'boak knew this because he had stolen metal gil from everyone in town and everyone in town was poor.

Except for the rich man.

Po'boak began wondering what he could buy with his new paper gil. Maybe some new San'Sha to place in the sheathes strapped to his waist. Even though Po'boak loved his old San'Sha, he knew there were better ones in the world. He had seen them when the merchants came into town with their liquor. The merchants had called them curved daggers, but Po'boak liked the name San'Sha better. It was at that moment, wondering about what he could purchase with his new found wealth that a disheartening realization settled over Po'boak's mind; he could not buy anything in Paustil. Not with the paper gil at least. If he did then everyone would know he was a thief. No one ever paid attention to Po'boak and that's the way Po'boak liked it. But everyone in town knew Po'boak was as poor as everyone else and if he suddenly bought something with paper gil, a form of money no one else in the town possessed, they would wonder who he had stolen the money from. The people would give Po'boak more attention than he wanted. They would begin to notice him when he preferred not to be noticed and the game would be over. Po'boak would have to travel to a new town if he wanted to keep the game going.

The game of thieves was the funnest game Po'boak had ever played. How many times can you take something from someone without them knowing? That was the main objective of the game. How many times can you touch someone where the thing they have that you want is located and be so skillful, so invisible, so weightless, and shapeless that they do not feel your touch or realize you were even there? That was the funnest part of the game. But still, even more exciting than that was when someone _did_ feel Po'boak's touch. They would never see his face; Po'boak was too quick. Po'boak loved the thrill of the chase. Jumping from one rooftop to another, sliding under log cabins, and hiding behind curtains. Even though Po'boak had only experienced the chase four times in his life, he remembered each time. Though, there was one time, the third time that Po'boak experienced the chase that wasn't fun. It was when he stole his two San'Sha. The man who had them before, a man who played a much different game than Po'boak's game of thieves, called them curved daggers and wanted them back. They were _the man's_ curved daggers when Po'boak had to spill the man's blood. But now they are San'Sha and _Po'boak's_ San'Sha have never spilled any blood. Spilling blood was the game of the dead man who lost his curved daggers. Po'boak did not want to play that game ever again.

Unless he had to.

It was at that moment, when Po'boak was deep in thought, contemplating how he was going to traverse the outskirts and where exactly he would go in order to spend his paper gil that the wooden door to the building Po'boak was currently inside swung open with a loud creak, letting in the thunderous ambiance of the stormy night. Po'boak didn't care much for remembering faces of people, only the valuable and shiny things they liked to carry. Nothing about the new arrival reminded Po'boak of anything valuable. While Po'boak did admire the black attire covering the man, _especially_ the black round billed hat, clothes didn't score Po'boak too many points in the game of thieves. Besides, not even Po'boak could take the clothes off of someone's back without them knowing it and more importantly, thieves should never steal someone's clothes. What are people going to place their valuables in or under while walking about if not their clothes?

Po'boak decided to ignore the man after watching him pay Bastil with metal gil. This meant the man was poor and Po'boak didn't need to steal from a poor man at that particular moment. Since the thought of clothes had recently surfaced in Po'boak's mind, he gave himself a brief once over. A thin green shirt clinging to his chest beneath a thick, grimy brown shirt, which was draped over a beige belt that held up an old pair of brown pants with a patch sewn into the right knee. Po'boak began thinking about the new fancy clothes he would buy while scratching his head. Tufts from his short messy green hair wiggled in front of his eyes as he scratched, which caused Po'boak to consider a trip to a barber as well.

These thoughts brought Po'boak to an unsettling realization. How would he continue the game of thieves if he was rich and dressed in fancy clothes? People would notice him a lot more if he wasn't so dirty and unpleasant to stare at. That would make the game twice as hard, which didn't really appeal to Po'boak. Giving up the game wasn't really an option. Po'boak couldn't read the numbers on the paper gil and didn't know exactly how much it was worth but he knew it wouldn't be enough to feed him for the rest of his life. Eventually he would have to go back to the game. These realizations had made it even more clear that the best option Po'boak could choose was to find another town to live in. This saddened Po'boak a bit. Paustil had been his home since he was a baby. It was the first place Po'boak had ever played the game. The _only_ place Po'boak had ever played the game. Leaving would be sad but how would Po'boak do it?

It was at that moment that the man dressed in black interrupted Po'boak's train of thought for a second time. The brown skinned man began yelling at the big bully, Bruxis who wanted the big sword on the new arrival's back. Bruxis was a big, mean dumby. If you want something from someone and you know they aren't going to give it to you, you don't just walk up to them and ask for it. Granted, the plan usually worked for Bruxis most of the time but it was still a dumb plan and now he had gotten the brown skinned man angry. Now there would probably be blood and Po'boak hated blood. It was the ultimate sign of a failed game. That is, unless the game involved spilling blood.

Po'boak didn't like games where spilling blood was necessary.

To Po'boak's surprise, the new arrival managed to beat Bruxis at his own game, without spilling blood. This fascinated Po'boak beyond words. Po'boak had never seen anyone _not_ give Bruxis what he wanted. Even though the man's screaming irritated Po'boak to the core, Po'boak felt a tremor of respect swell within his chest for the man. The day was always better without blood. When Bruxis left the inn another new arrival entered the Dusty Place and Po'boak knew who this one was. Several useless things were attached to her clothes that no one could see beneath the brown cloak she wore. But Po'boak knew they were there; small knives and a thin katana that was a bit shorter than the sword the brown skinned man carried. Po'boak knew that someone who carried more than two blades, unless they were a merchant, played the games that required blood spilling. Po'boak would have disliked the woman because she spilled blood for a living, but she was pretty so Po'boak decided to like her instead. Po'boak remembered taking a small trinket she wore around her neck. It was hidden by the cloak but Po'boak knew it was there because he had given it back. The look of sadness on the pretty woman's face made Po'boak feel bad so he left it by her bed in the wood shack on the west end of town.

Another realization hit Po'boak's mind as he pondered over his last few minutes of thought. The merchants! That's how Po'boak would be able to leave town without being killed by hungry beasts. The merchants traveled in large groups with large wagons. Most of the time they had men with them who played the game of mercenaries, a blood spilling game. Po'boak hated blood spilling but if the blood of hungry beasts was spilled instead of his own blood then Po'boak was comfortable with that. Po'boak could travel on one of the wagons all the way to a new town. It didn't matter which one. Satisfied with his plan, Po'boak's lips formed a wide smile as he stood from his seat and walked out of the Dusty Place.

The door creaked shut behind Po'boak and his breath materialized in front of his face on the cold chill of the night air. The thief didn't mind the rain splattering down onto his head, dampening his hair and causing his green tufts to stick to his face. The thief had a plan and it was a most ingenious plan that only required a bit of patience. It had already been seven months since the last caravan made its way through Paustil and the small town was due for another run of merchants advertising their wares and supplying the townspeople with another stock of wheat and mead.

As Po'boak walked along one of the two muddy roads that made up the town of Paustil, his dark, emerald eyes spotted a bright light off in the distance just off the east end of town. Could the gods have been listening in on Po'boak's mind while he thought up his brilliant idea? Po'boak decided they must have been. Why _wouldn't_ the gods want to make his mind one of their favorite spots to view the birth of entertaining yet intelligent schemes and ideas? The life of a thief was an exciting one and could only be endured by the most crafty of individuals.

Po'boak hurried towards the orange flames that lit up the darkness of night on the east end of Paustil. He wanted his offer to be the first on the minds of the merchants before they began selling their usual wares. Po'boak couldn't help but chuckle at his good fortune. Soon he would be the first thief in his lifetime to start the game of thieves in Paustil and make his way into the larger world a rich man.

The lights grew brighter and Po'boak's arm rose to shield his eyes. His obscured vision from the rain and light made the merchants look very strange. The merchants appeared very different from what Po'boak remembered. Since when did merchants walk on four legs? Maybe the merchants had different animals other than chocobos pulling their wagons? That must have been it. But then why would merchants use animals that growled to pull their wagons? Animals that growled usually liked eating people and Po'boak knew that merchants didn't like human eating animals any more than he did. As Po'boak lowered his arm to get a better view of the animals his emerald eyes widened and his black pupils shrank against the light of the orange flames.

With a ferocious growl, a large gray skinned lupine with two red colored streaks lining its back leapt into the face of the shocked and terrified thief.


	3. The Guardian

**FINAL FANTASY**

**Call of the Summoner  
**

* * *

**Chapter Three  
**

**THE GUARDIAN  
**

* * *

Paustil was nothing more than an insignificant assortment of wood and desperation. The people gathered only what they needed to survive. They constructed only what would keep the elements at bay. There was no motivation after survival for these uneducated humans and they were content with that dismal fact. This knowledge disgusted Tanya Furdell. Just knowing that inherent failure surrounded her was enough to send the young woman into a silent internal rage. What sickened her the most was that the people of Paustil knew full well that they were pathetic. They just didn't care and the nonchalant aura that emanated from the Paustilians threatened to infect Tanya's own will everyday she remained chained to the village.

The brunette longed for the days of her past life. However, as quickly as she allowed the blissful memories to creep into her mind, her will pushed them back into the dark recesses of her subconscious. Tanya knew that even simple thoughts of her past might cause a slip in her actions or reactions with the people of Paustil. The secret she carried deep within her mind had to remain a secret if the one she wished to protect were to remain safe. Even with such determination, Tanya realized that control of the subconscious was nearly an impossible task for human beings. This is why Paustil was her current home. Most of her neighbors had never set foot outside of the town perimeter. Others who had ventured outside of the village were merely outskirt wanderers. Their eyes could not recognize the subtle hints displayed across Tanya's face generated from her emotions. Only the eyes of the merchants would recognize what Tanya sought to hide and she made sure they never saw her face.

All for the sake of the small woman she wished to protect; her little sister, Fiona. Though they did not share the same blood, Fiona was the only family Tanya had left. Revealing emotions spurred from subconscious memories would not bring about her sister's capture. She would not allow her to be taken before that group of lunatics to be experimented on and controlled for their own sick ambitions. No, if living out the rest of her days in a run down, rotting collection of shacks surrounded mostly by a desolate wasteland was what it took to keep Fiona safe then so be it.

Concern had found its way into the guardian's heart when the wanderer had entered the Dusty Place Inn. Tanya hadn't remembered seeing the man at first but she soon realized the teenage boy she briefly laid eyes upon when she arrived at Paustil had grown into what few boys grew into in the outskirts; a wandering liar, spinning tales of adventures and accomplishments that give these individuals a false since of value to their otherwise meaningless lives. While most men and women become content with their current situations, realizing they had drawn a bad hand in life being born in the outskirts, other more defiant souls tend to set out in search of a more meaningful existence. What most find is a gruesome death at the claws or teeth of some monster. Others join the small groups of murderers and bandits that pillage from town to town before they to die untimely deaths. Some, such as the man Tanya recently spoke with, pointlessly travel from town to town, unable to stop moving. Tanya figured the reasoning behind this was that these individuals felt that to stop moving would mean giving in to the hopelessness of their situation; there was no better life waiting for them over the horizon. The only thing waiting for them is what they left behind when they started walking; a poor meaningless end to a poor meaningless beginning.

Paranoia had become another bane to Tanya's existence besides no longer being able to remember her past. Every new face, though rare, set off a red flag inside of her mind. Could they be a scout or spy? Could Fiona's whereabouts have been discovered? With every new face, Tanya had to hide her own face and restrict Fiona to their small shack. With every new arrival, Tanya had to follow them and spy on them from the shadows, watching their every move. Eventually she would have to stare down each new arrival that decided to stay for more than a day and each time she had to lock her eyes with the eyes of a new arrival the tightening grip of tension would clench her heart to the point where she could no longer feel it beating. Would she have to draw her sword and with it spill the blood of a person that may not have even known who she was? Would she again have to risk traveling the outskirts with Fiona, hoping that none of the more dangerous monsters crossed their path?

Sometimes the burden was too much for Tanya's heart to bear. The only saving grace that clouded her fears and soothed her despair was looking upon her little sister as she slept peacefully for another night. Even atop an insect ridden pile of dirt and hay, Fiona's lips still formed a small smile of solace. That smile was all Tanya needed to know that she had chosen the right path.

The guardian had set all of her weapons aside and covered them with what remained of the hay. Several steady streams of rain fell through the decaying wooden roof of the shack in some places while small droplets of condensation sprinkled down from others. This prompted Tanya to continue wearing her cloak as she laid herself down next to Fiona, allowing the young woman to keep the one blanket of their home to herself. A yawn escaped Tanya's lungs as she stretched out on her bed of hay, however, before sleep could overtake the guardian's consciousness a loud shriek pulled her head up from the hay. Her ears twitched as she tried to focus her sense of hearing beyond the splatter of water falling from the sky. It wasn't until a very distinctive and feral growl bounced off of her eardrums did the guardian begin to fathom what was going on outside.

Lupine. An image of the beast flashed immediately into Tanya's mind after hearing the animal's growl. The guardian was on her feet placing her daggers back into their sheaths fastened across the front of her leather armored top two seconds after hearing the Lupine attack. After six seconds had passed, Tanya had her katana repositioned on her back in its sheath beneath the cloak and was on her right knee, waking up Fiona. The young red head didn't appreciate being woken up in the middle of the night and expressed her dissatisfaction with several groans and annoyed sighs.

"Wake up, Fi Fi." Tanya continued shaking her sleeping sister.

"What...what is it?" Fiona groaned.

"Trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Lupine."

Fiona didn't need any more of an explanation. Her sheepish demeanor changed almost instantly into that of an attentive student waiting to be instructed. Tanya let the pride she felt stirring in her chest at the sight of this bring a small smirk to her face before instructing Fiona to pack everything they owned just in case they needed to leave quickly. In the meantime, Tanya would venture out into the town and try to find out what was going on.

The door to the guardian's shack creaked open for a second and was shut just as quickly. Tanya peered around the corner of her rain soaked home, scanning the moonlit town for the source of the source of the shriek. It didn't take long for Tanya to spot the attacking creatures. The rain-soaked red stripes on the backs of two Lupine shimmered beneath the moonlight as the beasts ripped into the chest and stomach of a defenseless middle aged woman who made the unfortunate mistake of stepping outside to see where all of the growling was coming from. Ruby red droplets of blood sparkled through the air and hit the backs of the Lupine, blending almost perfectly with their stripes.

Tanya knew the woman. Her name was Felicia Henderson. She was a widower of the late, Byron Henderson who died gathering wood for a table he promised he'd build so his family didn't have to eat off of the ground. Tanya couldn't help averting her gaze from the dying woman's home as two more Lupine entered the wooden shack. Gurgled screams of protest were the last sounds to leave Felicia's throat before the terrified shrieks of her son and daughter boomed from inside her home. As Tanya's eyes once again lifted to the attacking beasts, from the shadows of the night, she could just make out the human figures advancing into the village from behind the Lupine.

Bandits. The realization caused a burning rage to swell inside the guardian's chest. These bastards roamed the outskirts traveling from village to village for the soul purpose of taking what little others had and killing any that stood in their path. Even if those in their path did not resist their evil desires. Tanya knew all too well what would follow. The few survivors of the initial attack would wish they had suffered a fate similar to that of Felicia and her children. At least then they would not be subjecting to the torture and humiliation that always befell the leftovers from bandit raids. The men and women of the village would be tortured and raped by the sadistic men and women of the bandit troop. When the bandits were done feeding their lustful desires the surviving villagers would be cut up into spare meat for their pet monsters and possibly for the bandits themselves if they were bandits of a cannibalistic nature.

"Don't go rushing in like last time!" The leader of the bandits ordered. "Our numbers are small enough as it is! We ain't taking anymore villages if we don't have enough swords to put down hero types!"

"Relax, boss." Vansh said with a confident smirk. "That's what my babies are for."

"Your _babies_ outnumber us two to one." The bandit leader sneered. "I don't like those odds. I don't like elements of a situation I can't control outnumbering me."

"Well..." Vansh shrugged. "That's why you have me. My babies would never betray me."

"No. I don't think they would, Vansh. But if you get taken out then me and the rest of the crew will suddenly be on the menu again. Beast Tamers ain't something the outskirts has in abundance."

Vansh thought about her leader's words for a handful of moments before brushing them off with another shrug and advising him that doubling his efforts on not losing her would probably be beneficial. Her attention was briefly distracted by the screams of two small children inside of a shack that some woman was lying dead in front of; a feast for her pets. But the brats were quickly silenced, allowing Vansh to refocus her attention on the current assault. This focus brought a faint image into the corner of her eye causing it to twitch. Her hand rose and her finger pointed towards the image directing three Lupine towards it.

"Shit." Tanya cursed.

The guardian quickly peeked inside her home and ordered Fiona not to step outside unless she was told to do so. After receiving a nod from her sister, Tanya launched herself in a full sprint away from her home towards the center of town. The guardian figured she had a better chance of losing the beasts' attention if more people were alerted to their presence. It was a cowardly tactic, using the villagers as bait but it gave Tanya the best chance to circle around back to her shack and grab Fiona without having to fight off a pack of Lupine and a pack of bandits. They would most likely have to leave this village as bandits weren't known to leave many survivors. Especially not well organized bandits. This particular group was set a level above the rest as they were the first Tanya had encountered that held control over beasts. Odds were everyone left alive or dead would end up as food for their pets.

Unfortunately for Tanya, although her plan was sound, human error decided to change the circumstances of the plan's execution. Most, if not all of the villagers had stumbled out of their homes in an attempt to figure out where all of the noise was coming from just as Tanya planned. However, due to the constant rain that had befallen the outskirts for the past two weeks, a rotten log of wood camouflaged beneath the muddy ground caused the guardian to take an unexpected fall through the door of the Dusty Place Inn just as she was making the turn that would lead her back to Fiona.

While Tanya flailed through the air, one of the pursuing Lupine leapt onto the back of the guardian. When the two landed, Tanya found herself struggling to keep the beast's fangs from tearing out her neck. Screams of protest and rage flew from the guardian's tongue as she wrestled with the beast but her arms could not find the strength to remove the creature from the top of her body. Nearly half a minute into the struggle a pain filled gasp escaped Tanya as she felt the claws from one of the Lupine's feet dig into the side of her gut through her leather armor. Despair etched itself across her face as the beast's strength began overpowering her own.

"Ngh...no..." Tanya groaned through gritted teeth.

The Lupine, knowing it had won the struggle did not pull its head back in preparation for one final lunge. It instead, in keeping with its feral nature, continued barking and snapping its powerful jaws at its potential meal. With each snap its fangs moved closer to the live flesh beneath it. Only a handful of seconds separated the beast from its feast and its dark red eyes widened with a hunger and anticipation. Had it been more aware of its surroundings instead of focused solely on its next meal, the beast might have noticed the steel broadsword cutting through the dust filled Inn towards its head. Instead, in the split second the Lupine did notice the sharp metal its open mouth rose, letting out one last snarl before the blade sliced through its jaws, stopping halfway down the beast's neck. A loud yelp that lasted no more than half a second was the last sound to escape the Lupine before it fell limp on top of its former prey.

Tanya ignored the large gallon of blood gushing from the creature that nearly ended her life and gazed up at her savior. Her eyes took in the sight of the young man she branded a wandering liar that led a meaningless life. While her opinion of the man hadn't changed, her upbringing demanded she show some form of gratitude. A quick thank you before pushing the lifeless Lupine to the floor was the best Tanya could manage before rising to her feet.

The wanderer seemed less interested in Tanya's gratitude than she had been in him when she learned he was nothing more than a drifter. Fully clothed, minus his long overcoat and ridiculous hat, the wanderer stepped over the dead Lupine and disappeared into the night outside of the Inn. Surprisingly, Tanya didn't notice any hints of fear or worry in the man's eyes; only an expression of defeated annoyance had overtaken his face. It was almost as if he seemed more pissed off at the fact that something of great importance to him had been interrupted than fearful that monsters were overrunning the village.

Deciding to ignore her curiosity for the time being, Tanya made her way outside of the Dusty Place, hoping to disappear behind the small group of villagers that had gathered in the center of Paustil. Fiona's safety was her only priority. Everyone else would have to fend for themselves. It might be different if it was Tanya's or Fiona's fault that the attack was taking place but neither of them could control where a bandit troop decided to pillage. Even if it was their fault Tanya would still sacrifice the villagers in order to save her sister. The world was a cruel place, Tanya reasoned and if one was to survive and ensure the survival of the ones they cared about, everyone else would have to look out for themselves. The plan was flawed only in the fact that it never worked out for everyone.

Unfortunately for the guardian, fate seemed determined to ensure the failure of her plan. The bandits, all eight of them from what Tanya could count, had surrounded all of the surviving villagers that were foolish enough to leave their homes in front of the Dusty Place. In front of them, their attack Lupine, the ones that weren't currently feasting on dead or struggling villagers, were flashing their fangs at the trembling survivors. If Tanya tried making a move towards her house, even if the guardian made it to the wooden shack, a covert escape would be impossible. Tanya let out a sigh of reluctance and drew her katana, realizing she had no choice but to fight it out with the bandits and their beasts.

"This place still doesn't have much in the way of defenders, does it?" The wander asked with a side glance to the only other person brandishing a sword besides the bandits.

"Why...what could have possibly given you that impression?" Tanya asked, making no attempt to hide her sarcasm.

"Well..." The wanderer said with his own slew of sarcasm. "There's eight of them, not counting the Lupine and only fucking _two_ of us."

Moments after he finished his sentence, the sound of metal slicing into flesh glided along the wind into Davin Greyburn's ears. Another yelp from another dying Lupine echoed throughout the center of town next. Davin's eyes shifted from Tanya to the source of the now dead Lupine and spotted a short figure with dark green hair jumping off of the lifeless red and gray beast. The figure took the shape of a small man as it moved closer. When the man was fully visible Davin realized that the man was actually a short teenage boy.

"Make that three." Davin said.

"You..." Vansh's fists shook with fury. "I'll fucking _kill_ you! You killed my baby!"

"Whoa...did you see that?" Another of the bandits said. "That little guy jumped off the roof. He was hiding on the ro-" His sentence was halted as Vansh's fist slammed into his jaw.

"Shut up!" Her eyes locked on to the small green haired boy and glared a hole through him. "Kill that murdering little shit!"

"This isn't good." Tanya said while planting her feet firmly into the muddy ground, taking a readying stance.

"No shit." Davin said while taking his own stance. "Hey, you got anymore tricks up your sleeve that can get rid of the rest of these dogs?" He asked the green haired boy.

"Po'boak don't like you." The green haired boy said with a glare in Davin's direction.

"Then why the hell are you helping us?" Davin wondered.

"Po'boak not helping _you_." Po'boak said, hunching his body forward and readying himself for an attack. "Po'boak helping the pretty lady."

"Oh boy..." Davin rolled his eyes.

Tanya took one last glance at her surroundings before committing herself to the inevitable bloodbath. Many of the villagers were shouting pleas of mercy to the bandits while others were scrambling inside the Dusty Place, hoping to escape death for a few minutes longer. A few fearful villagers attempted running out into the wilds. Most who chose this path would make it, however, most of the villagers had never traveled through the outskirts and had no idea where the next village was nor were any of them equipped for such a journey at that point in time. Survival instincts only took human beings so far. After that if their level of intelligence wasn't up to par and if blind luck didn't send any miracles their way, those impulsive instincts would only lead them to an alternate death instead of a better chance at life.

So her current fate, such as it was, would be decided by the side of a wandering liar and a filthy uneducated teenager against a group of bandits and a pack of attack Lupine. Suddenly, Tanya felt her own instincts for survival telling her to abandon any and all insane attempts at fighting against uneven odds of that magnitude. Soon, the guardian would find out if her intelligence would be enough to ensure death was not a part of her near future.


End file.
